Italian Lessons 101
Lessons in Humility
Simply Divina: Becoming Italian One Recipe at a Time is my culinary memoir celebrating my arrival in Florence 1984 40 years ago. Weekly posts with stories taking you step by step of how I ended up here and eventually made a life. Learning the language was the key to a deeper understanding of the culture and community. Initially, I planned on learning recipes, but those recipes became my love language with the Florentines.
Become a paid subscriber for access to the recipe files and the archives.
When I signed up to take Italian lessons in Florence, I was setting myself up to be embarrassed daily. I had studied French through school growing up, and although I had good grades, I was shy about speaking. When I went to France in 1972, just after graduating from high school, it was clear I was not a French speaker. The French at the time had a reputation for not being nice to anyone who didn’t speak French. It wasn’t welcoming.
When speaking another language, I think we tend to overthink first before speaking, and those listening to us get bored and distracted, have little patience, and move on.
I was determined to dive in and immerse myself in the language when I came to Florence. I had gotten a student visa to go to Italy. I signed up for language school and made reservations for the entire month at a small pension. I was determined.
I knew my brain couldn’t deal with more than 2 hours a day of lessons, so I signed up for class from 5 pm to 7 pm Monday through Friday. I planned to explore Florence during the day, have lunch, and then take a break so I was ready to study.
Before the trip, I took some Italian classes in San Francisco to prepare for the basics. Italian verb conjugations are similar to French, so that was a help. English is based on Latin root words.
I found this fun book with stickers that I stuck around the house. The book was also a fun way to learn, building up from adding one word in a sentence to writing a whole sentence. I was ready to go.
I arrived in Florence and checked into my tiny hotel near the train station, just by the Medici Chapel. I decided to walk around town and get my bearings. I was told Florence had a beautiful cathedral, and I was off searching for the cathedral.
I turned the corner and saw a dirty stone church with a dead pigeon on the stairs. I was not impressed. How could anyone think this was spectacular?
I walked by and headed beyond to see the town. At the end of the street, I looked right and then left to cross the street and saw this.
It was love at first sight. The church was impressive. As an art student and a pastry chef, I was smitten. It was like the most ornate decorated cake. The gothic facade is covered in three marbles: white from Carrara, green from the nearby town of Prato, and pink from Siena.
I came to Europe with a one way ticket and $2,000. In Italy, one dollar was worth 2,000 lira. A single room in the pensione was 35,000 lira and a pizza was 4,000.
I was rich.
It was easy to get lost in Florence; the maps, to me, were printed upside down. You had to hold the map upside down to follow it; years later, I found a map published in the correct direction. I commissioned a local artist to make small hand-painted maps of Florence, dividing it into seven neighborhoods. They say you have seen a city if you have visited seven churches.
Santa Maria del Fiore- the Duomo
Santa Maria Novella
San Marco
Santa Croce
Santo Spirito
San Lorenzo ( the mercato)
San Niccolo ( the oltr’arno)
There are endless churches in town, but these are the major ones.
Armed with a pocket-sized Italian-English dictionary, I headed out daily to discover Firenze ( Florence is the English name) and talk to anyone who would speak to me to help improve my Italian. Full immersion.
In the mornings, I would stop at a local bar/pastry shop and order something different daily.
Espresso, Caffe’ Macchiato, Caffe’ lungo, Ristretto, Caffe’ Latte and also order In Vetro, in a glass. DON’T order Latte unless you want a glass of milk.
I would visit the large Mercato Centrale to see what was in season and listen to what people called. Not having a kitchen was killing me; the market was terrific.
I came to learn about pastry. They don’t teach the cooking vocabulary in school. I bought a copy of La Cucina Italiana and a cookbook to learn independently.
Trying to speak and sound like a three-year-old was humbling, but I pushed through. I think people appreciated the fact that I was trying. Few of the older people spoke English, but unlike the French, they were patient and let me try.
Often, it was like charades, using hand gestures and a few simple words. It became a game.
Trying to buy lipstick, I asked for “colore per le labbre”, a color for the lips. The saleswoman responded, “Rossetto”?
I carried a notebook and wrote down my new vocabulary.
Come si chiama?- What’s this called? Every day, I added new words. I also wrote down things I wanted to know how to say to express my passion for cooking to others.
I discovered that there are multiple names for the same thing.
Tooth picks are called stecchini but also stuzzicadenti.
I had been told to study Italian in Florence because they spoke pure Italian, not dialect, but it was still confusing.
One word at a time. Throw aside your pride. Just keep trying.
After a month of classes and making some friends, I decided to stay. I ran out of money and needed to find a job. The hotel I was staying in offered me a job, first helping clean rooms and then cooking for the college kids who were staying at the hotel. I got to stay at the hotel for free in exchange for room and board.
Life got better having friends in town. Traveling alone, not speaking the language, is very lonely. You can’t understand conversations around you in Italian. Trying to have long discussions with a limited vocabulary is exhausting. Every day is a challenge.
At the end of November, a wonderful man I had met in San Francisco decided to come and visit me in Florence. He wanted me to move home. We toured the Amalfi Coast and had a lovely week, but I told him I needed more time there to learn more and then would come home.
When I returned to Florence, the pensione told me they wouldn’t need me to work after the students left in December.
My roommates also called and told me they were moving from the apartment we rented, and I needed to return and move my things.
I took that as a signal from above that I was meant to move back to San Francisco.
I borrowed money and bought a round-trip ticket from Florence back to Florence.. leaving in December and returning in April when the tourist season would start again, and there would be work.
If I were in love, I would stay in California.
I was 30 years old and had nothing to lose. Life was an adventure, and now was the time to explore.
If you are planning on coming to live in Florence, the laws have changed. Do your research before coming.
I still recommend taking Italian classes on any extended stays in Italy.
It gives you a schedule and some friends in your same position. I also bonded with my teacher.
It’s nice to live like an Italian as well. Morning coffee at your local bar. Become a regular. Bond with the butcher, baker and other shop keeper’s. Take your class, perhaps study with the other students.
I would do the Passeggiata every night, which is essentially, cruising the main, Italian style. Walking up and down the main street in town, seeing friends, meeting new friends, stopping for an aperitivo or a caffe’.
This week’s homework for the paid subscribers is a few of my favorite Carnevale sweets. Both of these are tiny, little round bites. The rice fritters are so surprisingly delicious. You may want them all year long.
Frittele di Riso- Rice Fritters
Castagnole- little fried donut-like balls
Recipes are after the paywall.
Next week’s post is on the Dispensa, The Tuscan Pantry.